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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038894">tell me again (about how it hurts) // remix</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/packrat/pseuds/packrat'>packrat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Acceptance, Angst, B99 Fall 2019 Fic Exchange, Bisexual Characters, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Female Friendship, Gen, Re-edited, Rejection, angst but dialed up to a million, like the original but with more of rosas canon backstory, post coming out, rewritten, thanksgiving family dinner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:54:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23038894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/packrat/pseuds/packrat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>it’s Rosa’s first thanksgiving after coming out to her parents - it’s very angst loaded and centers mostly on Rosa’s journey of it all</p><p>rewritten but originally for the fall fic exchange on tumblr for @exploding-snapple: I chose the prompt “Rosa's first Thanksgiving with her family (including her two sisters and their kids) since coming out“ and combined it with Rosa’s and Amy’s friendship because they’re the Sleuth Sisters!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rosa Diaz &amp; Amy Santiago, Sleuth sisters - Relationship, rosa Diaz &amp; Original character, rosa Diaz &amp; parents</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tell me again (about how it hurts) // remix</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>it’s a rewritten version with more of Rosa’s canon backstory and the angst dialed up a notch </p><p>the original story can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20844488</p><p>I’ll be coming back to this later to re-edit typos since my phone was really playing games with me</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>“Coming out feels like you have no space to rest but everything around you is a bed. It is to watch your loved ones mistake the flowers on your tongue for high-power blades. And nothing you say will make the cuts heal faster but saying nothing, saying nothing will mean the cut stays a cut. Bloodstains the shape of mouths that will spell acceptance only as long as it is another’s daughter. My coming out was an apology repeating itself endlessly until it found out there was no forgiveness.”<br/>
- Swastika Jajoo</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>When you got the text from your sister, asking if you’re “going to be coming home this weekend for Thanksgiving?” you froze. For a second there, you stopped breathing and tried to push down the anxiety and bile that rose at the thought of having to go back home. It made you so sick but it did from the year you got kicked to curb at barely 16. </p><p>Ever since you can remember really. Most times you felt like there was no place for you in that house, at that table, in that family. You just weren’t as perfect as your older sister or as intelligent as your younger sister. You just existed in a space you so desperately wanted to claim but did not feel like you had the right to do so. You existed where you could have lived.</p><p>
  <em>Returning home for Thanksgiving always goes something along the lines of this: all your family is there and everyone is asking you if you found a good guy yet (or alternatively they ask about Marcus or Tom. They really liked Tom. You never talked about it but he was the first guy you saw yourself spending a lifetime with.) </em></p><p><em>Seeing your sisters happily married with their husbands and all their children prancing about. Children that innocently view the whole house as their playground, running around without a sorrow on their mind. Without care or concern for the world around them. </em>
</p><p><em>And then there’s always been you: alone, different, isolated, alien. Always felt and forever feeling out of place in this house, in a world, that once had been </em>your<em> playground.</em> </p><p>You had shuddered at the thought of returning home after what had happened only a few months prior: the restaurant and the shouting, family game night, more shouting (and shouting and shouting and shouting— so much shouting), your father coming to your work to apologize, your mother— </p><p>And once upon-a-time-family-game-nights. </p><p>And <em>god</em>, the tears. Tears over tears over tears. Your mother’s words burning hot like acid on your skin. Not for the first time in your life but the third or fourth that they were ready to abandon you once again. A constant reminder that maybe you truly are unloved. That maybe you don’t deserve the love of your family, <em>a</em> family, after all. </p><p>You always dreaded any family gathering. The constant picking on your imperfections and the comparisons to your oh so perfect sisters. And then the thought of having to hide who you are in front of the people that were supposed to love and know you since the beginning of time was just— your family never talked much about anything anyway but this, this always felt different. In an unexplainable gut wrenching way. </p><p>It makes you sick to your stomach. </p><p>And in that moment when your sister texted you if you’re coming to Thanksgiving, fully knowing what is going on between you and their parents, you just wanted to throw your phone against the wall, scream and hide <strike>and cry</strike> (<em>no, you don’t cry</em> you tell yourself with tears burning sharp in your eyes) and get drunk on tequila by yourself. Maybe get on your motorbike and drive until there’s nowhere to go anymore. Maybe, you thought, you’d discover the end of the world. Maybe you’d just find happiness. Maybe you’d finally find peace. (Maybe you’d cry silent tears when no one else would be around for miles and miles. And maybe your tears wouldn’t be as silent as you made it out in your head. Maybe you’d scream all the pain away. Because, as much as you hate to admit it, you cry. You cry a lot these days.)</p><p>You remember how you came out to your sisters just after you did to your parents. </p><p>Since you got out of prison, after being wrongly convicted, it was your thing to meet at least once a month at your older sister’s home to catch up. Your sisters’ thing anyway. They started doing it years and years back. Just getting together to play games with their kids and catch up and have fun. Sometimes you suppose that is what happiness could be like. Not that you’d know. </p><p>You remember how anxious you were to introduce them to Alicia, your hands trembling and sweaty and cold and your girlfriends grip telling you that everything will be alright eventually. You remember how perfectly your hands fit together and how much you think about it still. </p><p>You remember how you sat across your sisters, your only constants in your life and let them in on your deepest, darkest secret. You relive how the anxiety rose at the thought of telling them: “I’m bi and this my girlfriend” and when you did just that you instantly felt like running and running and hiding and cutting off contact with everyone and vanishing from the face of the earth. You recall Alicia’s soft fingertips on the back of your hand, softly caressing it in circular motions. Remember the warm embrace of your older sister, how you were pulled close by her and how the pad of a thumb softly wiped a tear away from your cheek. How you were embraced by the familiar smell of being safe.</p><p>How you almost forgot what this feeling is.</p><p>Sometimes you still regret being such a closed off person but it had always been easier this way. Because you’ve always been alone, left to fend for yourself.</p><p>“There’s no need to cry, Rosalita”, she’d said “it’s okay. It’s all okay”, followed by the confession that their mother already called to tell them and that they got into a fight over it because it was not their mother’s place to go around and tell everyone about your life.</p><p>Followed by another hug. </p><p>Followed by the admission that you had already come out to her when you were 15 and had to be picked up from a house party for the first time. You had been drunk and crying all the way home and when you were asked why there were tears streaming down your face all you could say and repeat was “I’m bi and I know it’s wrong but I don’t know how to stop it, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” before throwing up on your front lawn and then passing out as soon as you got into your bed. </p><p>You know it as a time when everything just got too much, when you started going to parties and started breaking into houses. It started as a dare but you realized you’re good at it so you continued doing it. You also know it as the time you realized you fell for your best friend. Hard. <em>Her luscious blonde hair and red lips. Her smile. The way she carried herself. You later on found out that she was falling for you as well. But then you graduated and moved to different parts of the country and calling daily became calling once a week became calling once a month became forgetting became silence.</em></p><p>You remember waking up in your own bed the morning after. And then there was the fact that your sister <em>had known</em> for twenty years. And yet never told anyone.</p><p>At least you had them on your side. </p><p>Your other sister had just been sitting there, observing the scene that was unfolding in front of her. She, too, smiled but she, too, wasn’t as good as dealing with emotions as your older sister. </p><p>But them not hating you was enough for you. </p><p>You got pulled out of your thoughts by a second text, subsequently realizing that you still hadn’t answered the first one yet. </p><p><b>Por supuesto, tu pareja también está invitada... Espero que sepas que está bien si aún no estás listo para verla. Sé que ha sido difícil para los dos. Solo sé que ella te quiere mucho. Y yo también. Estoy aquí por ti, hermana.  Siempre.</b> (<em>Of course your significant other is invited as well... I hope that you know that it’s okay if you're not ready to see her yet. I know it’s been hard for the both of you. Just know that she loves you very much. And so do I. I'm here for you, sister. Forever.</em>)</p><p>This time, you answer. </p><p>
  <b>I’ll be there.</b>
</p>
<hr/><p>And then there was the fact that Amy invited herself to join. </p><p>It definitely was not you who was indirectly asking what her plans were for the holiday because you knew full well that Jake would be on a stakeout and she didn’t plan on visiting her own family. </p><p>At first you regretted asking her because she so readily agreed but she’s one of your closest friends and you know that going there alone would be a dumb idea. </p><p>(Secretly, you are more than thankful for Amy tagging along. It seems weak to you but you still aren’t ready to face your family alone. And now you have <em>all</em> your sisters on your side.)</p>
<hr/><p>That’s how you find yourself in the position you are in right now: sitting in the passenger seat of Amy’s car, riddled with anxiety, seemingly not able to muster up the courage to open the car door. Because once that door is open there’s no going back. If you are looking at all of this realistically you <em>know</em> that your family already knows you’re here. They must have spotted you by now. </p><p>You’re just blankly staring at the door, a million thoughts per second rushing through your brain. You almost want to turn to Amy and tell her to drive back and drop you off at your apartment. But there’s an invisible force holding you back so you don’t.</p><p>Suddenly, there’s a hand on your hand and when you look up you’re met with Amy’s brown eyes and an encouraging smile. It’s as if she can read your mind. “Do you want to leave? We can leave right now if you want to”, she asks, her voice laced with sincerity and concern. And you hate the way she looks at you and tells to you because you don’t need pity. You’ve been through much worse.</p><p>You shake your head. “Just— one more minute.” </p><p>Thankfully, Amy doesn’t question you and you resume staring at the door handle in silence. Then, you hear the drivers’ door open, feel the weight of the car shift and hear the drivers’ door close again. And then your side opens and Amy is holding out her hand to you. “Come on. You—we can do this. I’m right by your side and we can leave any moment, no follow up questions. We can go to yours or mine or Shaw’s and dunk in silence while listening to Death Metal on full volume.”</p><p>Inhaling deeply, you take your friend’s hand and get pulled out of the vehicle. Instantly, all you want is to return back into the safety of the car and hide. And while one door closes behind you, the front door of your childhood home opens up. </p><p>You hear the old wooden door creak open and you hope it’s your mother waiting to greet you like she did every day after middle-school. When the smell of freshly cooked food would greet you from all the way down the street and nothing had been broken (yet). When everything seemed to be <strike>more</strike> alright. When there were secrets standing in between you. When you thought of your mother’s love as something unconditional, unbreakable but deep down knew that this was just part of your imagination because otherwise you would’ve told her. </p><p>You gulp at the realization. </p><p>Instead of your mother a boy of maybe thirteen years of age comes barreling towards you. </p><p>“<em>Tía Rosa!</em>,” he shouts excitedly before almost crashing into you. You let go of Amy’s hand just in time to catch the boy. “I thought you wouldn’t come. I’ve been waiting <em>all</em> day for you! But mom said that I shouldn’t come out unless you decide to leave the car and—”</p><p>And for the first time since you woke up that day, you sincerely smile. “Alex! I’m here now, aren’t I?” </p><p>“I have so much to tell you—“, he continues rambling while pulling you inside the house, Amy following closely behind. </p><p>Once inside, you are immediately embraced by your father’s strong arms. “I missed you, <em>mija</em>,” he admits and then turns to Amy: “Good to see you again, Amy,” before briefly hugging her as well, directing the next sentences to both of you: “Come sit in the living room with us. Do you want anything to drink? Alejandro will get you whatever you need from the kitchen,” while already walking into the general direction of the living room. </p><p>You roll your eyes because you’re perfectly capable of getting your own drinks. “Why? Am I not supposed to go in the kitchen?” You say in a tone that is supposed to sound like mockery. But you observe Oscar freeze in his spot and he doesn’t give you an answer. </p><p>And you just know that you hit the mark perfectly. And then the realization that it is because your mother doesn’t want to see you floods all your senses. And the feeling of ‘I shouldn’t have come’ creeps up your throat. You want to scream at him and at her but instead you calmly ask: “Is it because <em>Mamí</em> is in there and she doesn’t want to see me?”</p><p>You still don’t get an answer. </p><p>“It is, isn’t it?”</p><p>Oscar slowly turns around, face in agony. He runs his right hand through his hair. “Listen <em>mija</em>, she still— hasn’t figured it out. And it’s not that she doesn’t want you in there it’s just—“</p><p>“- that she doesn’t want me there. Or here, I suppose. Great. I understand,” you complete his sentence after a few seconds of silence. You turn to Amy. “This was a bad idea. We should go.” You then proceed to walk back to the front door, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. <em>You’re not going to cry here. In front of your father. In front of everybody. You’re not going to cry in front of Amy and your nephew. You’re not going to.</em></p><p>In that moment the kitchen door opens and your older sister steps out. Her head is still turned to the kitchen as she finishes the conversation. “— I know! I’ll be right back!” And when she turns, her eyes are met with yours. </p><p>“Ro-Ro!” she exclaims smiling and it sets something off in you and you feel the tears starting to stream down your face. They’re scorching hot and uncontrollable and you turn away from everybody, embarrassed that you just <em>don’t</em> have control over your body today. Your older sister hurries to you to embrace you and you hide your face in her sweater. “No need to cry,” she jokes and then leans in and whispers “you wanna go outside?”</p><p>You nod, face still buried in your sister’s neck.  You hate yourself so much for being so weak.</p><p>She then turns to Amy, smiling. “You must be Amy. Would you mind helping in the kitchen?” </p><p>You can’t help but chuckle through the tears and imagine that  Amy blushes furiously. “I’m really bad in the kitchen so it would be a really bad idea. Everything I touch turns into something inedible. I might accidentally burn the house down in the process,” she explains while your sister leads you out the door. </p><p>“You could still join us in the living room”, is what you hear your father suggest before the door closes behind you. </p><p>You settle down on the steps of the front porch, neither of you talking. You rest your head on your sister’s shoulder and she lightly tangles her fingers in your curls. </p><p>“I’m really glad you came,” your sister admits quietly, breaking the comfortable silence. “Alex was so stoked, too.” She inhales and exhales loudly. “You know, it’s all going to be alright someday.”</p><p>You chuckle bitterly. “Bit will it though?” you ask her. “<em>Everyone</em> seems to say that. But it really doesn’t look like it. And I’m really scared it never will be again.” Your voice breaks at the last few words. There’s tears streaming down your face again. </p><p>After about ten more minutes of silence, your sister gets up from the steps again. “I have to get back to helping. You know how <em>Mamí</em> is. She’s— She’ll come around eventually, Ro. Just give her some more time, okay?” </p><p>You nod. Because what else are you supposed to do. All you’ve ever done is give people more time. Especially your mother. Even after she kicked you out and left you by yourself when all you really needed was her.</p><p>You don’t know what you’re supposed to say when you know the things you are promised might just be someone saying something in the spur of the moment. And doesn’t mean it. Just a bunch of empty words promising healing, but they’re empty inside. So you don’t say anything. “Do you want me to bring Amy?” your sister asks instead. You shake your head. </p><p>“I’ll be right in.”</p><p>As soon as the front door closes again, you are hit by another wave of sadness and tears. Before all of this happened you never knew you could cry this much in one day. You just want to be alone in your apartment and get drunk and hide under your covers in the dark and reread the text exchange between Alicia and yourself.</p><p>Alicia. </p><p>You hadn’t thought about your ex-girlfriend in days.  </p><p>You miss Alicia. Miss the warmth she provided and the arms holding you tight at night when the nightmares of prison were haunting you again. Miss her smooth skin and soft melodic voice. Miss her every time you lay in the bed that now feels too big for one single person. Miss her laugh and waking up next to her. Miss the warmth of her body and the warmth of her hands and miss how they just so perfectly fit into yours. Miss kissing her and holding her and being held. Miss how you could be your true, vulnerable self around her. Miss her</p><p>You miss Alicia. But more than anything you miss your mother. Your mother that’s no ten meters away from you but doesn’t want to see you. </p><p>And it hurts. </p><p>“Mom said I should leave you alone for a bit but being alone is never great so here I am,” Alex’s voice suddenly talks next to you. “Wait, why are you crying?” He frowns as if he only realized in that second that he can’t quite put his finger on what exactly was wrong. You wipe the tears off your face in a hurry before Alex hands you some paper tissues. </p><p>“Well, everything feels different now,'' you admit without thinking and sigh. “<em>Mamí</em> isn’t talking to me and it’s weird, y’know? I’m not allowed in the kitchen and just being here feels <em>wrong</em>.” There’s a short period of silence, Alex waiting for you to finish. “I shouldn’t have come.”</p><p>It’s ridiculous how you confide in your nephew. You shouldn’t bother him with your own personal problems. He’s too young to play your therapist. </p><p>“You should have because I wanted to see you. I missed you. We all did. Is it because of the fight you had with Grandma?” </p><p>You wonder how he knows about this and how he’s so compassionate for his age. And how considerate he is. Your sister did a great job raising him, you think. You contemplate if telling him would be the right thing to do but the words tumble out of your mouth before you can come to a decision. “Yeah. Because I told her I am bisexual. Do you know what that means?” </p><p>To your surprise, Alex nods in understanding. “Of course I do. Mom explained it all to me when I was like nine”, he tells you as if you should have been aware of him knowing. As if he was stating the obvious. <em>Of course he knows. His mom talked to him about it.</em> You’re both quiet for a moment until Alex adds: “I think I am, too, actually. Bisexual, I mean.”</p><p><em>’Okay, cool cool cool cool cool. Okay it cool’</em>, you think. “When did you realize?” You hate being asked this question but it’s the only thing coming to your mind right now.</p><p>“Easy. I was watching <em>Cloak &amp; Dagger</em> and I thought <em>Dagger</em>: hot. <em>Cloak</em>: also hot.”</p><p>You have to laugh. “Have you ever seen <em>Saved By The Bell?</em>”, Alex shakes his head. “We definitely have to watch it! You’ll love it.” You didn’t realize how close he’d been all of a sudden until he hugs you tightly. </p><p>“You’re the coolest, Rosa. And I’m glad you came even though Grandma isn’t talking to you. I wish you were around more often. I like hanging out with you, you’re like my hero. I mean Mom knows about me maybe being bi but it’s cool to have you to talk to about it. To know I’m not alone in this.”</p><p>You don’t know what to say so you pull him closer. </p><p>They’re both not alone in this.</p><p><em>Hero.</em> It leaves a bitter aftertaste of responsibility in your mouth. But it's one you’re ready to take on. </p><p>It’s quiet between you until Alex mumbles ”I don’t want Grandma to hate me, too.” And you’re pretty sure you weren’t supposed to hear that. To hear it and recognize the fear lacing his voice. But you did. And your heart feels like it’s shattering into a million tiny pieces at his admission.</p><p><em>“She doesn’t hate you”, you want to say. “She doesn’t really hate either of us. It’s just hard on her. I get that. It’s always different when it’s your own family.”</em> But you know it’s just exactly what your sister said to you not one hour prior to this conversation. So you pull him even closer instead and tell him “Yeah, I know exactly how you feel. You’ll always have your mother and me though. Thank you for telling me. I’m so proud of you.” You squeeze him tight once again before letting go.</p><p>He nods solemnly before asking her “Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?”, and you sigh. </p><p>“I had. But we broke up last week because she got offered a place to study in London. She left yesterday morning.”</p><p>Alex just nods.</p><p>You’re so happy for Alicia but there’s also a lot of resentment within you. You want her to be happy but isn’t it too much to ask to also be happy?</p><p>You feel the wind harshly touch your skin and you realize that neither of you wears a jacket. After observing the goosebumps forming on your arm for a second you suggest to head inside in a desperate attempt to change the subject. “I’m freezing!” you add for good measure. </p><p>Alex jumps to his feet and follows you inside and you’re immediately embraced by the warmth of the house. </p><p>By now you made peace with the idea of having to spend the remainder of the evening with your dad and Amy and your sisters’ husbands and kids in the living room. </p><p>What you dont expect when you turn the corner though, is to encounter your mother in the living room, animatedly chatting away with Amy, who is surrounded by the younger children. </p><p>It’s the first time you’ve seen her since the futile game of Pictionary, where you had to explain to your parents that being bisexual is a thing because you are it. And them telling you that it’s a phase and you’ll marry a man and have loads of children with him. </p><p>When you dare to step into the room, everything suddenly quiets down and the tension is palpable. You feel like choking the second you make eye contact with your mother and you’re aware of your heart starting to race and your palms getting sweaty. </p><p>Your hands start to tremble.</p><p>And you can’t breathe anymore. </p><p>“<em>Mamí</em>”, you force out, your voice laced with pain. “<em>Lo siento. Te extraño. Por favor perdoname.” (Mom, I’m sorry. I miss you. Please forgive me.)</em> You don’t know what she should forgive you for because it should be the other way around, her seeking your forgiveness but all you want is to hear her speak and take you into her arms. </p><p>And make peace. </p><p>Your mother looks at you and you can clearly see the tears in her eyes. The struggle within herself is visible even across the room. </p><p>It looks like her left foot wants to step towards you and the right one further away. Like her right hand wants to reach out and her left one wants to reach away. She takes a step towards you and then, without a word, she turns away again and disappears back into the kitchen. </p><p>You stand there, still, petrified in place for what feels like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds. You feel your nephew hugging you tight, feel his pain translate into your body. Your pain pacing with his because that might as well could have been him. </p><p>The ringing in your ears gets louder and you start to feel dizzy. And then someone is grabbing your hand. Your father is trying to apologize to you but you can’t hear him over the high pitched noises surrounding you. You can just barely make him out through the blurriness of your eyes. </p><p>The hand leads you to her car and you get in, woodenly, staring ahead into emptiness. You feel them reaching over your body to buckle you in and then they are driving. </p><p>And then they’re not. </p><p>And then you cry. </p><p>You cry and cry and cry while someone holds your hand and you sit in silence until you’re all cried out.</p><p>When someone becomes Amy, you’re driving home and you get drunk on various kinds of liquor together. When Amy reaches her Six-Drink-Potential you tell her about Alicia and how you miss your mother and she tells you about her struggles while you and her fiancé were in prison.</p><p>You fall asleep on the living room floor where Jake finds you the next day. He laughs at the scene in front of him, taking pictures and sending them to the work group chat. You try to smile and mean it. That’s all you can do for now.</p><p>(It takes you almost six months, a particularly gory case that entails the persistent mother of the victim which reminded you so much of the relationship you had to have with your mother and the tenacity of both your best friend and your current girlfriend respectively until you muster up the courage to call your mother and ask her to meet you at the precinct after work. </p><p>She agrees.)</p>
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